


Desk Work

by LivingSilver



Category: Chernobyl (TV 2019)
Genre: Blowjobs, Desk Sex, Dirty Talk, F/M, Multi, Older Man/Younger Woman, Voyeurism, hints of boris/valery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 11:36:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19722904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LivingSilver/pseuds/LivingSilver
Summary: Boris has this little minx of a secretary at his office  in Moscow that he likes to fuck on his desk. And while the other central committee members prattle on about god knows what, that's what he's thinking about--fucking her hard on his desk, papers falling off on to the floor, her hands gripping the edge.  It's his preferred method of stress relief, and the various stresses of Chernobyl are ever multiplying upon him.





	Desk Work

**Author's Note:**

> Took me forever to write this filth really.

Boris has this little minx of a secretary at his office in Moscow that he likes to fuck on his desk. And while the other central committee members prattle on about god knows what, that's what he's thinking about--fucking her hard on his desk, papers falling off on to the floor, her hands gripping the edge. It's his preferred method of stress relief, and the various stresses of Chernobyl are ever multiplying upon him.

"I have to check on some things at my office, Valery. I'll see you tomorrow," Boris says, his normal routine after every meeting is adjourned. He lives for the release of these little trysts; they keep from breaking more phones whenever the party tries to feed him some bullshit excuse for this, that, or the other while lives are wasted.

"Actually, there are some documents at your office I'd like to review," Valery states perfectly oblivious, because of course how could he possibly know that Boris' marriage died quite some time ago and he's currently carrying out an affair with one of his secretaries.

"Documents?"

"Yes, documents; you do have a small archive at the Department of Fuel and Energy? Or is it offsite?"

"No, it's there at the office, in the basement, of course you're more than welcome to take a look; I don't think you'll find anything of interest," Boris replies, hoping to dissuade him and he really _doesn't_ think the professor will find anything of interest.

"Still I'd like to take a look all the same," Valery says, giving him a slightly searching look, "if its not a problem," he adds; Boris thinks he's naïve, but he can tell something is off.

"No of course, no problem at all."

When they arrive at the Department of Fuel and Energy, Valery sees instantly why Boris is returning to his office at every available opportunity-- sitting neatly behind a modest desk just outside an imposing door, her arched brow furrowed delicately in concentration amidst the efficient clicking of her typewriter, hair pulled into an elegant coif exposing the line of her throat; her clever eyes brightening at their approach.

She stands from behind her desk, greeting them in perfect order with a curve of her full lips. They exchange niceties, which Valery observes with the mildest raised brow he can manage, extending his hand when Boris introduces him; her skin nothing more than silk as she slips her hand into his for the briefest of hand shakes.

"Please, show Professor Legasov to the archive, I'll be in my office and I want to meet with Ivan, bring him to me on your way back."

Its not quite the end of day; too many people still in the building, he has to at least pretend to work until they're gone.Valery gives him a long sideways glance that Boris returns with a defensively raised brow of his own before Valery turns to follow her.

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you Professor Legasov," she throws from over her shoulder on the way down to the archive while he makes futile attempts not to notice the sway of her hips and how her heels accentuate the line of her legs "Minister Shcherbina speaks very highly of you."

"I'm--pleased to hear it," Valery replies, caught slightly off guard by the realization that he's important enough to be considered a topic of Boris' conversations.

"Please let me know if you need assistance locating anything, I'll be just upstairs," she offers after giving a brief overview of how the archive has been organized, leaving him with a reassuring hand on his shoulder as she departs. The touch lingers through the fabric of his suit.

Upstairs, roughly an hour later, Ivan, who is essentially running the department while Boris is assigned to Chernobyl is leaving his office. Boris notes the building is essentially empty now when he opens the door to let him out.He returns to his desk. A few scant minutes later, his secretary is slipping quietly inside his door. She comes to stand behind his chair, hands going to his shoulders, massaging the tight muscles there in small circles while pressing a kiss to his cheek.

He reaches up to cover one of her hands with his own.

"Missed you," he says tiredly, letting himself relax beneath her touch.

"You're too stressed Borja," she murmurs.

"I have to be, come here," he says tugging on her wrist and she removes her hands from his shoulders, coming around to the front of his chair and sitting gracefully in his lap, throwing her legs over the arm of his chair, his hand coming to rest on one of her outstretched ankles.

"How was Minister Ivan?" She questions knowingly; this was their usual routine at the end of every day; she would curl up in his lap, letting the scent of his cologne and the timber of his voice soothe her while he complained of the incompetencies that surround him.

"A complete idiot as usual. I'll be surprised if there's a Department of Fuel and Energy left by the time I fully return," he grimaces. "Does he bother you while I'm away?"

"He tries," she replies with a small smirk.

"I'll kill him if he ever touches you," Boris says protectively.

"You don't need to worry about me Borja, I can take care of myself," she says softly.

"And what do you think of Professor Legasov?"

"He seems to be a good man; rather attractive in an academic sort of way," she adds absently, fingering his tie now.

"Really?" So it isn't just him; he isn't going insane all of the times he imagines grabbing him by his tie and kissing him until the professor forgets everything he knows about nuclear physics.

"You have nothing to worry about of course Minister Shcherbina," she demures lowly, tugging on his tie.

He acquiesces, leaning down to capture her mouth in his, hand sliding from her ankle up to her thigh, pushing up her skirt, tongue swiping against hers as she wraps her arms around his neck, pulling him in close. He slips two fingers past the edge of her panties and she gasps against his mouth; he curses finding her hot and slick for him.

Valery can't remember after the fact how or why he ended up turning the handle to Boris' unlocked office--he thinks vaguely it was because he needed something from the archive and the secretary wasn't at her desk, and he and Boris are so often in the same room with each other anyways he simply forgets the need to knock, he doesn't think anything of it, and it's not like he could have possibly known Boris' secretary would be stretched out like a kitten in his lap--well perhaps some part of his mind, the one reserved for his wildest fantasies may have suspected--his hand disappeared beneath her skirt, their lips so exquisitely entangled--

Valery can't help but let out a startled "oh" of surprise, his hand still on the door knob, still slightly cracked behind him, drawing the attention of both parties involved. The secretary shifts uncertainly in Boris' lap and Boris merely looks at him with darkened eyes.

"Shut the door behind you, Valera," Boris says lowly after a moment of consideration, if Valery leaves then he will know for certain he's going insane, overanalyzing every lingering glance and accidental touch, "or leave if you wish."

Valery who doesn't know exactly what to do if he stays but realizes he doesn't wish to leave at all, clicks and locks the door behind him, gathering himself before approaching Boris' desk.

"Have a seat," Boris offers, "my secretary was just telling me how she finds you attractive in an academic sort of way."

Valery sits in the chair opposite Boris' desk.

"Oh?" He questions lighting a cigarette, "I'm flattered."

He leans back in the chair, taking a long drag while Boris resumes fingering his secretary open beneath her skirt, absorbing every detail he possibly can--her small gasps of need, the pleasure painting itself on her face. Boris strokes her open with two practiced fingers, curling them within her until her body goes taught in his arms with a high pitched sigh that he quickly swallows, mouth covering hers, her nails biting into the back of his neck.

Valery is hard in his pants as he lights another cigarette.

Boris places her on the edge of his desk, and Valery stands, hand coming to the base of her neck, she turns her head, looking at him through lowered lashes. He leans down, slotting his mouth against her already kiss swollen lips licking what can only be the faint masculine taste of

Boris from her mouth. Boris undoes his belt and untucks his shirt, pulling out his length while he watches them kiss. Valery tries not to stare at Boris' cock as he breaks the kiss for another drag of his cigarette, but he can't help himself; Boris catches his gaze and runs his thumb along the tip as if to say _see something you like Valera?_

Boris positions himself at her entrance and enters her in a single sharp motion, her head falling back against Valery's shoulder with a bitten off moan, Boris' fingers digging into her hips as he fucks her slowly, forcefully; allowing his well of carefully reserved anger to surface, sure to leave bruises beneath his touch; bruises that she always eagerly accepts.

"Our Boris is very good at this isn't he?" Valery murmurs against the shell of her ear as she begins to lose herself, eyes again meeting the other man's.

She agrees breathily between broken moans, Valery placing kisses beneath her ear, Boris reaches behind her head, releasing her carefully updone hair, tugging at her scalp, allowing Valery better access to the line of her throat.

"Look at you, you take it so well," Valery praises, trailing two fingers down to where her panties are pushed to the side beneath her bunched up skirt, lightly circling her clit, her spine twitching at the unexpected touch, "and how wet you are."

Boris groans softly, the rasp of Valery's voice going straight to the base of his spine, and its obscene really how close Valery's fingers are to where his cock disappears within her. He increases the roll of hips and Valery matches his rhythm.

"Are you going to come--" their eyes meet, for a moment Boris' isn't sure which one of them he's talking to, "Are you going to come for Minister Shcherbina?"

The secretary can feel the edges of her vision blacking out, the drag of Boris' cock filling her, the professor's deft touch and his voice humming beneath her skin; she drags her nails over Boris' shoulders through the fabric of his dress shirt, panting his name until her voice cracks and she comes hard on his length, Valery murmuring her through it with soft words of "Yes that's it, that's good, isn't it?"

Boris follows seconds later, Russian curses falling from his lips and very nearly "Valera" but some last shred of misplaced Soviet stoicism stops him. Valery is absolutely aching in pants by this point watching them both come apart; the only relief is the slight pressure from the edge of Boris' desk against him, but he waits patiently for the two of them to come down, preoccupying himself with running his hands along the secretary's body. Boris tucks himself away, shirt and all, redoing his belt, exchanging small, apologetic kisses with his ruined secretary.

"And what shall we do with Professor Legasov?" Boris whispers conspiratorially against her mouth, casting his eyes to the swell in Valery's pants and Valery flushes suddenly hot all over.

"Sit down, Professor," she commands quietly, throwing an arched brow over her shoulder at him.

He does as asked. She slides off the desk. Boris sits in his chair and lights a cigarette. She walks around the desk to where Valery sits. She kisses him, almost chastely, save for the flicker of her tongue against his upper lip and he sighs against her, but then she's gone, sinking to her knees before him, fastidiously undoing his belt and zipper. She thumbs through the pearl of fluid gathered at the tip and he's already placing a fist against his mouth. Boris watching with rapt attention as she sucks the tip of him into her mouth; Valery's eyes falling shut beautifully beneath the thick lens of his glasses, with a sharp raise of his brow. He threads his other hand through her hair. Boris exhales too loudly and it draws Valery's attention, opening his eyes only to catch Boris' heavy gaze and Valery's breath hitches in his throat.

"Borja," he half whispers, half moans, unable to contain himself and Boris can't decide if he wants to kill him or kiss him for his vulnerability.

"I'm here Valera," Boris returns hoarsely.

The secretary's mouth is hot and wet and deliciously intuitive around Valery's length; she swallows him and it only takes a few swipes of her tongue to have him spilling in her mouth, fingers tightening her hair, teeth biting into the knuckles pressed against his lips, unable to repress the slight buck of his hips as he finds his release.

Boris is half hard again in his pants and he adjusts himself as inconspicuously as possible; his secretary pulling away from Valery's lap, rising to fix herself, and returning ever loyal to Boris' side, helping herself to a drag of his cigarette. He pulls her in for a kiss, tongue lingering against the remnants of Valery's taste. Valery hot beneath his skin at the sight of Boris licking the taste of him from her.

They eventually slip back into their coats and make their way out of the office; the cool night air an unwelcome return to reality as Valery reflects on the future state of his Boris.

"You're thinking too much, Valera," Boris says once his secretary has gone.

"I'm sorry?" Valery returns, pulled from his reverie.

"You're thinking too much," Boris repeats quietly, "there's nothing to think about."

He brushes a finger against the inside of Valery's wrist; the only gesture of comfort he dares to risk out in the open, but it’s the only reassurance Valery needs and he gives Boris one of his crooked half smiles. Each of them parting for the night temporarily relieved from the imminent weight of what tomorrow's return to Chernobyl holds.


End file.
